Chapter 474: The Origins Of Doom (2)

Pudding was sleeping on the job.Usually, this wasn’t a problem. Pudding’s job was to welcome customers. And nothing was more welcoming than the sight of a fluffy orange cat sprawled on his back, paws messily splayed while his white tummy was exposed to every passing hand. 

… However, since The Cozy Whisker was officially about to close for the night, Pudding’s job was now to let Mirabelle clean the table. A problem when he somehow managed to shift himself to exactly where her wet cloth wanted to be despite ostensibly being asleep.

Cats were truly marvels of nature.

Within the royal capital of Reitzlake, much of the city was only beginning to come alive. The bars, taverns and dockyard corners were being filled with the sound of laughter and the day’s regrets.

This was especially true for Portside Road’s finest cat shelter.

Most of the feline residents had abandoned their baskets to cause trouble on the roof, leaving Mirabelle the task of tidying up after them. 

A difficult endeavour even without Pudding’s white tummy getting in the way. 

With plenty of seating, tables and even a lunch menu, it wasn’t only the cats who left a mess. Many of the customers treated the shelter like a regular cafe, with the main difference being that their sandwiches usually came with a side of a bushy tail in their faces.

Suffice to say, they had plenty of returning customers.

Fortunately, Mirabelle was rarely alone in serving them.

“Really? You finally applied to become a guild receptionist?”

Helping to scrub the tables, Sera offered a bright smile.

Mirabelle was glad for her company, not least because she was a familiar face. As a fellow alumni of the Royal Institute of Magic, Sera could be relied upon to assist in ways that only mages could. Whatever caused the squeaking in the floorboards, her [Mending Presence] quietly erased it. 

How it worked, Mirabelle had little idea. 

Magical carpentry wasn’t an elective she’d chosen to study. A regret she continually felt each and every time she caused the stairs to creak when she tiptoed in the middle of the night to steal a nibble of her mother’s famous overnight carrot cake. 

“Yes, just earlier today,” she answered, all the while poking a wet cloth beneath Pudding’s back. “I doubt I’ll be hired, however. I don’t believe the guild offers short-term placements.”

“If they don’t, they need to start. They might be able to convince you to stay.”

“Well, I think it’d also be easier if they hired somebody who had no plans to leave in the first place.”

“It’d be simpler, sure–but it wouldn’t be better. The Adventurer’s Guild is a noble institution etcetera etcetera … but it’s also a complete mess. I don’t know how they keep their roof from collapsing. You’d do great there. Even a few days would be enough to fix some of the holes.”

“I didn’t see any holes,” said Mirabelle, choosing not to mention she was only referring to the roof. “The Adventurer’s Guild might have a reputation for haphazardousness, but I’m certain it’s undeserved. The logistics required to maintain the same services for centuries is astonishing.”

“Astonishing is that they didn’t ask you what your new uniform size should be. Did you mention you were student council president?”

“I mentioned it, yes.”

“Well, you should probably go back and mention it again. Last I checked, they were pretty much begging you to work for them. Who do they think they are, making you go through an official hiring process, huh? Someone like you should definitely earn under-the-table favours.” 

Mirabelle smiled as Sera gave an exaggerated huff.

Even though they’d graduated in the beginning of spring, it was almost as though they were still conversing in the student council room. 

The Cozy Whisker was a far cry from that rather decadent office, but the warmth was still the same.

“Someone like me is an ordinary applicant,” she said, very much in her student council president voice. “Everybody is equal. Just because I was fortunate enough to have attended the Royal Institute doesn’t mean I should be valued any higher. Or given under-the-table favours.”

“Right, right.”

Sera busied herself with wiping a table.

Then, she paused and raised an eyebrow at her.

“... Did you tell them about the Mirabelle Fan Club?”

“No.”

“Did you tell them about the breakaway Mirabelle Fan Club?”

“I didn’t tell them about any fan club, especially since none existed.”

“You say that, and yet empirical evidence says otherwise. Approximately 74% of the student body including a whopping 98% of the entire female demographic declared themselves members of the Mirabelle Fan Club in a wide ranging study.”

“A study with no citations, evidence or peer review. There is no such thing as a Mirabelle Fan Club.”

“Adamant as always. And yet there are two members right now. Isn’t that right, Pudding?”

Pudding let out a mewl, enjoying the sensation of Mirabelle occasionally poking his tummy.

She poked several more times for that.

“Pudding is the only one here with a fan club. If you wish to join his, please feel free.” 

“Too slow. I’m part of that already.” Sera sent a nod towards him. “It’s no wonder he’s so tired. Today’s been his busiest day. If you’re not careful, his fan club might overtake yours in the rankings.”

“If any rankings exist, I’ll gladly join just to ensure it happens.”

“In that case, I know a great place to find more members. The next time you’re in the Adventurer’s Guild, try bringing him along. He can expand his influence while also serving as a good luck charm. Adventurers love cats.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure if the feeling is mutual–at least so far as the guild hall is concerned. The aroma inside is slightly … unconventional.”

“See? Right there is why they need to hire you. Someone who can diplomatically find a word for everything is the hallmark of every good receptionist. Well, that and dealing with the sort of problems only people who journey through caves and sewers have. But if you can handle cats, then you can definitely handle any of that as well.”

“Hmm … I wonder.”

Mirabelle pondered as she poked Pudding a few inches forwards. He shuffled obligingly.

Quite aside from comparing adventurers to cats, she really wasn’t certain if she’d be a good fit. 

After all, she knew exactly what the Adventurer’s Guild wanted. 

They had a recruiting stall right outside the Royal Institute of Mages. She couldn’t walk to the nearby forest to gather bitterwort fronds without hearing about the benefits, wages and requirements. 

And it worked. Otherwise, she never would have applied.

But her susceptibility to advertising aside, the truth was that her reasons for wishing to be a receptionist were for the sake of convenience more than any noble pursuit. As a position with few long term responsibilities, it offered an excellent taste of professional life without tying her down. 

All things Timon Quinsley was likely to view with a shake of his head.

“I think that being a receptionist is wonderful,” said Mirabelle earnestly. “That’s why I’ll fully understand if the guildmaster declines my application. Even if I’ll do my best, it’s only appropriate for someone who’s always wished to become a receptionist see their dreams come true.”

Sera let out a little gasp.

“Wait, wait, wait … the guildmaster?”

“Yes, Timon Quinsley. I’ve a not-an-interview with him next week.”

“In that case, I need to give you my special notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Mmh. I’ve heard unsubstantiated rumours regarding his unsavoury nature as a roguish villain. That means there are easy crowns to be had. If he needs my teleportation services for a quick getaway, he can contact me via my instructions.”

Mirabelle let out the world’s tiniest sigh.

However, before she could begin reminding her former classmate about the dangers of falling to hearsay, she was interrupted by the sound of a customer about to be let down by the sizable ‘closed’ sign they’d somehow ignored.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling.

Or rather, the entire group of customers. All of whom Mirabelle was familiar with.

After all–

“My, what a lovely establishment this is … and the smell, it’s so … rustic.”

It was them.

Appearing as a single, moving mass, a group of sparkling noblewomen squeezed through the tiny doorway, led at the front by a young woman with curls of blonde hair and a parchment fan partially hiding her face.

It was the fan which allowed Mirabelle to recognise her. 

Lady Odette of House Clairvaux.

Both the dress and hairstyle had changed despite the handful of hours that’d passed, as though that was all it took before a complete revision was required. 

However, the confident smile was very much still present. 

As well as the perfume.

Despite the rush of brisk evening air and all the scents that Portside Street had to offer, the usually indomitable musk of the cat shelter was suddenly replaced by a pungency matched only by the alchemy workshops within the Royal Institute of Magic.

And only when something went terribly wrong.

“Good evening!” said Sera, her apologetic smile turning at once to the group of visitors. “Sorry, really sorry, but we’re actually closed now. As you can tell, pretty much all our residents have clocked out.” 

She held up her wet cloth, then used it to point to all the empty tables around them.

The group of noblewomen simply approached the only one that wasn’t. 

“... Ah, Mirabelle, what a pleasant surprise this is!” said Lady Odette, taking care to not step on anything that wasn’t strictly the floorboards. “Quite a coincidence to see you twice in one day, isn’t it?”

As Sera blinked in confusion at being blatantly ignored, Mirabelle offered a welcoming smile.

She also pointed at all the empty tables.

“Yes, it is. But I’m afraid my co-worker is correct. We’re indeed closed. The lunch menu has ended and all our cats are unavailable. We’re currently tidying up before leaving.”

Lady Odette feigned a look of shock. Her parchment fan snapped to a close.

“Goodness, is that so? I do apologise. As the eldest daughter of House Clairvaux, time is a limited commodity. I’ve not the luxury of visiting all the charitable ventures my family sponsors.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah? Did you not know? How convenient. Then I suppose I can break the good news myself.”

To the non-understanding of everybody except the clique of smiling noblewomen, Lady Odette gave a smart cough, then gestured somewhere to the side.

“Congratulations. By the generosity of House Clairvaux, we have decided to make a contribution of 5,000 gold crowns to the continued operation of this establishment. Our sponsorship will ensure that the good work of this …”

Lady Odette looked around her.

After a moment, she waved her parchment fan. A member of her clique immediately broke away from the mass, stepped outside and looked up. She returned to whisper into her leader’s ears.

“... This Cozy Whisker may continue. I offer my gratitude for your work so far, and hope for your continued support as your main benefactor from this moment onwards.”

Sera’s jaw opened wide.

It was an understandable reaction.

Not only was the sudden arrival of a group of noblewomen at the close of day enough to turn heads, but to announce a sudden donation of 5,000 gold crowns was beyond all imagination. 

By and large, The Cozy Whisker was self-sufficient, supported by its customers and occasionally the Holy Church in copper and silver. 

To therefore offer the sum Lady Odette was suggesting was an unworldly sum in the context of charitable donations.

After a moment’s silence, Sera turned to Mirabelle.

“... Do you know these people?”

“We briefly met outside the Adventurer’s Guild earlier.”

“And such a terribly brief meeting it was too,” said Lady Odette. “Mirabelle made such an impression on me. I was worried we’d never meet again. For her to somehow be here must truly be the wishes of Lady Fate. Perhaps a road is available where she may work for us, after all–particularly if she wishes to see this humble establishment flourish to its fullest.”

Mirabelle continued to offer a smile, even as she was less than certain that Lady Fate would involve herself in what sounded like a rather overt attempt at securing her compliance.

“We welcome all donations,” said Mirabelle simply. “Have you spoken with Mrs Heywin? She’s the owner of The Cozy Whisker.”

“Rest assured, all relevant parties will be made aware of my donation … as well as the stipulations that come from it.” 

“The stipulations?”

“They’re nothing so arduous.” Lady Odette’s smile became even more prominent. “I must simply ensure that every organisation I sponsor is of good standing and matches the high standards that my family expects. In that regard, I expect Mirabelle to …”

Suddenly, the noblewoman stopped.

Her confident smile briefly faltered as her eyes fell upon a patch of white on a bed of orange. 

“What is that … ?”

“That’s Pudding,” said Mirabelle.

“Pudding?”

As his name was called, Pudding let out a tired mewl. 

Several of the noblewomen looked torn between wishing to approach or lean away from the oddly postured cat lying on his back.

“Pudding is also unavailable,” said Sera apologetically. “He’s everyone’s favourite right now, so he’s a bit worn out. But if you come back tomorrow, preferably when Mrs Heywin is here, you can spend time with him–well, assuming you beat the queue.”

Lady Odette stared at Pudding as he licked his whiskers.

Then, her smile returned in full. She glanced at Mirabelle.

“... I’ve a much better idea.”